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National Theographic
Magazine produced by Cellular Scouts for Cellular Scouts and Dermal Community couriers. Contents include humor, cellular dossiers with cultural primers and tips, along with commentary from various well known A.N.S.W.E.R. personnel on a wide variety of topics. Collectible Issues Volume 3, Issue #2123'. '': This issue contains an original article from a Spec. Wing Operative who reportedly encountered a cellular system where the two primary life-bearing planetary systems were an Earthworld and a Counter-earth of sorts known as Gor. The Rider recalls his experiences in rather unsettingly candid voicing. The passage reads; ''"There were seven of them, a few girls each to every man. The girls were on their knees, the pelts of various animals between them and the cold ground. Never before had I heard the word 'Slut' said so many times in a single day. Each of the seven men wore garbs and sashes of various colors. I was reminded at first of a Romanesque society - perhaps I had merely been caught in a slipstream during the reign of Tiberius. I was wrong however, the minute I heard them speak I realized just how FUBAR the situation really was. The girls eagerly waited to serve their 'masters,' as they called themselves, bringing them 'black wine' which is really just coffee, and other oddly named yet rather common beverages. The very term 'black wine' set my mount on edge, and she stayed close by me." "These were Goreans. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My mount had been disguised in the local fashions, or lack thereof, and had taken great care to blend in as much as possible. None truly noticed her peculiar physiology, at least not at first. She sat there at my side, a man with a black garb and black sash was doing his best to pretend he wasn't watching. The man in the red was not making any secret of his open observation. "Given the proximity of the slaves, the number of men who had conveniently placed themselves between me and the door, and the unsettling feeling the man in black was giving me, it is now no surprise to me why it was only a short time later that I learned that the Gorean word for Stranger is also the same for Enemy. The man in black stank. His eyes, his skin, his clothes and the air that he touched stank. They call themselves killers as a mark of respect on Gor. They don't use poison either. Trained from youth with a partner who they must hunt as their final passage. Such raw savagery ... The man in Red would not have my silence, he broke the peace with the boom of his husky voice. 'What is your Caste?' His narrow, half-vacant eyes roved over my form looking for some indicator. Noting that I of course did not wear the garbs they wore, or the sandals. My sidesword was tied to my belt and my boots had been shined. I was sorely out of place, and knew dick all what I would say. "I..." "Best not keep your silence long, Stranger." My response had been cut off. His girls watched timidly from their furs. I could feel the hairs raising on the back of my neck and the muscles on my body beginning to armor. He wasn't even looking at my mount, one false step and there would have been more than a little trouble, but as the Master Riders maintain there are always alternatives to fighting. "I'm a Hunter, and a Free Man. Sir." The ones who wore red were obviously of an organized military organization. The capacity for abstract thought seemed lost on the Goreans who seemed possessed merely of two-dimensional literalism axioms that would serve my purposes nicely. The man in black watched, emotionless and steady. A killer born. They were so easy to read. If there was ever a man with guile and wit enough, he could rule this planet. Women were second class citizens, Free Women considered blasphemy after a sense. I learned these things simply by observing. It is important when on a new cell to use all of your senses, especially remembering to utilize your mount for the gathering of pertinent information. If the cell is not catalogued, one must exercise extreme caution when dealing relations and customs. On Gor mistakes have a hefty price. The man in black wore the mark of a blade upon his brow, I would later learn that this meant that he had a mark he had to meet soon. The Assassins were given leave to do as they would in the cities, no need for stealth it seemed. It was a stroke of luck that I had given the man in red an adequate answer. Hunstmen and Tradesmen are after all a common phenomenon in the Man Lands. Even on Gor there existed the concept of commerce - supply and demand. I could not tell which way the Assassin was moving, the light of the door was blocked by the hulking figure of the warrior. He disappeared along with his girls in a matter of seconds. My mount was telling me such awful things in her psychic whisper, I was hard pressed to keep a straight face. On Gor, masculinity reigns. On Gor, Free Men had it all. On Gor, women never spoke out of turn. Aside from being stuck in a society based largely on blatant and exacerbated sexism, the experience was not without merit. The ability to adapt, the capacity for abstract thought, tactfulness ... these are necessary elements for our ambassadors to possess. Surely I could have split the Warrior in twine with my side arm, I could have decapitated him and in the blink of an eye gutted every person in the sitting area and made away before their blood turned cold. But we are not them. We are not those who destroy. We are healers first and foremost. Even on Gor the sun is Yellow, the grass is green and the sky blue. Respect the traditions of the world. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Take care though, and remember your mission. Always. We left only a few days later. My opinion of the Goreans? Mostly harmless. '''''Keeper's Quarterly Volume 1, issue #9 : 'A PusLicker's Guide to the YES' Contains commentary from an exceedingly rare source, that of 'The Children of The Wounded GOD', interestingly about the same cell, same world, 'Gor'. "(P)eculiar creatures, these. They do not see one if one whines and snivels enough, and is sufficient in appearing cowed in response to their displays of granduer. Pay close attention to local customs, keeping a list and checking it twice. Their xenophobic nature is a delight for those looking for adventure, offering a perfect case study of Instituted Barbarity in Man by a Rude species. The caste system is simply fascinating...I had the time of my life in the Merchant's Quarter alone..." "©urious to watch them as they engage in almost constant warfare, employing an entire caste of Scribes to write accounts of their deeds in texts most of them cannot read..." "(W)hile they proclaim their females are inferior and trade in them like any other commodity, they clothe them in the sacred symbols of bondage, the collar, the chains, entirely oblivious to their significance. They praise the combination of beauty and function in the design of these objects, and apply all of their poetic energies to extoll their purpose to such an extent that not only is slavery institutionalised, it is eroticised. It is therefore a student's dream in respect to being able to examine one of the more extreme forms of a narcissistic culture. Be warned about underestimating the arrogance of the warrior class, and keep your razor handy..." Keeper's Quarterly Volume 3, issue #119 : 'Conversations with the God of the Rising Smoke' "Once upon a time there was this extradimensional intelligence that used its vast power to expand a singular point of energy through the pinpoint of nonexistence and this resulted in a massive explosion of matter that formed the universe. Meanwhile life had quite unexpectedly formed on earth and the Intelligence came to see its first example of humanity, and it was a man who spent all his time jerking off on the beach and screaming at trees while he hit them with rocks and pinched his cockhead. Then...The Intelligence decided to manifest itself and appear before the man by exploding in a nearby tree in bright blue flame. The man shit himself repeatedly until his skin was white from dehydration and semen, after he'd run out of food and liquid to excrete, he had no choice but to hear the voice of the AWE. And the burning bush asked the man, "What wilst thou have of my power?" And the man screamed at it in an ignorant and pathetic attempt at displaying dominance, then proceeded to jerk off on it to study in a rudimentary experiment the effects of his man-goo upon the mysterious ignited shrubbery. The obvious answer of course, was to make Man intelligent. This has been widely regarded as a mistake and has upset a great many people. But the Intelligence, lacking hindsight because apparently Time is an illusion created by the expansion of the universe in relation to its original frame of reference, decided it would be best to let him talk. The man said, after spending several hours naming random shit he saw like a complete tard, asked the burning goddamn bush for the first, worst, and most inappropriate thing he could have ever asked for. A mate. Yes. He wanted a friend, no, more than a friend, because the Giraffe had given him that "just friends" shit and the hominid bitches stink. So the AWE began to create a form in the sand, and it created in relation to him a design so perfect, symmetrical, and beautiful that the man was almost completely satisfied. "There's just one issue" the man said. It was that she too had a penis. In what is considered to be by many the first act of homophobia, he requested that the genitals be reworked. All of this while the man ate what would later come to be called a hallucinogenic mushroom. The Intelligence let Man try his hand at creating a partner. And the man, tripping his hairy cave-balls off, went on to shape the vagina as we know it today. The design largely stemmed from various visual and tactile stimuli he was experiencing at the time. The mouth of an angry beaver, the smell of a dead fish, slippery because he was standing in a mud puddle, and hairy on top because his free hand kept drifting back to his dick. Screaming at the night, he shouted into the night "AND THIS IS WHERE BABIES COME FROM"